


A Second Chance

by Luna_Dawn_13



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Ending, Angels, Angst, Demons, Ellen Harvelle Lives, F/M, Fake Character Death, Jo Harvelle Lives
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-23
Updated: 2020-08-23
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:48:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26073676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luna_Dawn_13/pseuds/Luna_Dawn_13
Summary: Jo and Ellen have been given a second chance. Only the punch line is they aren't ever allowed to see the winchesters again. they start a new life away from hunting.4 years after Jo and Ellen blow up killing Hellhounds, Jo is hunting again. What happened in those four years? When she unexpectedly runs into the Winchester brothers, who notice she is alive, all hell breaks loose. Again.
Relationships: Jo Harvelle/Dean Winchester
Comments: 1
Kudos: 12





	A Second Chance

2009 Jo Harvelle leaned against the bottom of the counter; hands sticky with her own blood.

Dean Winchester pressed the bomb trigger into her hand, holding on for a moment longer before he met her eyes. Nothing but longing, unsaid words, missed moments, were caught between them. He leaned forward and kissed her forehead, before kissing her lips. In another world, their first kiss would have been time stopping. But Jo’s time was up, and this was the only moment they truly had. She looked into his eyes, tried to remember every detail of his face. Whatever waited for her in the after, she made sure she would remember him.

When Ellen Harvelle kneeled down beside her daughter, a moment passed between them, and to Jo’s horror, she knew what that meant.

“Mom, no,” Jo managed to get out, throat sore.

“Someone has to open the door,” Ellen said.

Sam Winchester and Dean started to protest but Ellen dismissed them.

Jo and Ellen, mother and daughter, were leaving this world together.

Sam and Dean were soon gone, and Ellen unchained the door, kicking the salt away before returning to Jo, who was growing weaker by the second. Invisible growls filled the space, and unable to see the Hellhounds, Ellen held her daughter closer. “Jo?” Ellen asked, but Jo gave no reply. She was gone, and Ellen was alone. She waited, listened, and when she felt the breath of a hellhound on her cheek, and said, “You can go straight back to hell, you ugly bitch,” and pressed the detonator.

White light exploded, and Jo and Ellen stood side by side in a park. The playsets were empty. A single swing moved easy in the light breeze.

Jo pressed a hand to her stomach, and the once fatal wound was gone. Her shirt wasn’t ripped, and the blood was gone. They looked at each other and believed fully that this was their afterlife.

“You aren’t dead,” the familiar deadpan voice pulled their focus. A man stood a few feet away from them. He was in a suit, and both of them knew he was an angel.

“What?” Ellen said.

“You aren’t dead,” he said again, “I’ve brought you both back.”

“Brought us back?” Ellen was advancing on him now, but Jo stayed where she was, hand still pressed to where her wound had been moments ago. “Who are you?”

“Zachariah,” the man said with a flip of his land as if dismissing such a question, “You being alive is quite simple. Dean needed motivation to finally say yes. If two more people in his life died, then he would be even more determined to end the apocalypse.”

“Then why not just let us stay dead?” Jo asked.

“Oh, I couldn’t do that,” he said, “I may not be anyone’s favorite angel, but I’m not all bad. Think of this as a new start. I can bring you anywhere, new identities. You can start over without being tied to the life of hunting.”

“What if we just go back?” Jo said.

“I’d have to stop you,” he said, whatever pleasantries from before gone. He was all serious now, and Jo wanted to run. But Ellen grabbed her hand and squeezed.

“Baby, we don’t have a choice,” she said, and Jo squeezed her hand back. Ellen looked at Zachariah, “Okay.”

“Perfect,” he said, “But remember, you try and contact the Winchesters and bam,” he snapped his fingers, “You’re dead.” He stepped forward and placed two fingers on each of their foreheads and the scene changed. They were standing in front of a small two-story house on the eastern coast.

“The Winchesters will never find you here,” Zachariah said before disappearing.

They looked at the house, at the faded yellow paint, the white fence, and swing on the small porch. They were never small town, small life people. But they might have to be. “A new life for us, Joanna,” Ellen said. Jo grabbed her mother’s hand, and together they walked towards their new beginning.

2013

Jo felt around in the dark bedroom, until her hand landed on her bunch up shirt.

Silently, as to not wake the sleeping man in the motel room, she put her clothes back on, grabbed her bag, and snuck out of the room. She fished her own keys out of her front pocket and jumped into the blue faded pickup. She quickly tied her blond hair out of her face, grabbed her gun out of her bag and shoved it in the glove compartment and pulled out of the motel parking lot.

Her map laid out on the passenger’s seat. After noticing a series of unexplained deaths from the news, her next stop was in Oregon, on the coast. She had never been. Her mom once mentioned having gone there with her father. But that was a long time ago. Jo tried not to think about that time. The time before. When hunting and the Roadhouse were the only things on her mind. When her one friend was a mullet rocking genius who she never went a day without talking to.

Jo drove all night, stopping once for food, and as the sun rose behind her, the small town of Rourke welcomed her. She pulled into the first motel she saw, an ocean themed one story with cable tv and vending machines. When she got a room, she parked in front of the door, eager to get inside and set up her research.

If she had stopped to look around. If she had taken a moment to notice the other cars, she would have seen a 1967 Chevy Impala parked three rooms down.


End file.
